


in vino veritas

by IneffableDoll



Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [19]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexuality, Drunken Confessions, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and probably mine, blame my friend with the prompt not me, extraordinary amounts of alcohol, so soft, this is peak idiot on Crowley's part, yup it's both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26164396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: “Crowley’s brain goes empty! He makes a love confession…the day after he’s already made one.” – ridiculous prompt from a friend that I had no choice but to write.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714558
Comments: 20
Kudos: 131
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	in vino veritas

It was a normal day, one like any other.

This was in London, so it smelled bad and was louder than strictly necessary. There were birds – possible nightingales – flying about causing mischief and being menaces to the populace. Clouds conglomerated overhead, spitting rain on-and-off so the Londoners were left constantly on edge about whether they should have brought their umbrellas.

Inside a small bookshop, which seemed rather larger on the inside than should be possible, if one was mortal and limited to the frivolous boundaries of physics, an Angel of the Lord and a Demon of Hell were both drinking heavily enough to kill a large mammal.

Despite what the average Londoner may suppose, this, too, was normal.

The Demon Denizen of Lucifer addressed the Former Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

“Aaaangel,” Crowley whined. “’Mmm outta wine!” He tipped his glass upside down to demonstrate, therefore spilling half a glass’ worth of drink onto his fine black suit.

He blinked down at himself. “’M all wet.”

Aziraphale regarded the demon beside him with hazy vision, slouched low. Motor functionality seemed less important when three sheets to the wind, and he was already there at least an hour prior.

“Why’re you-“ he started before pausing to consider how very red Crowley’s hair was, cast in the orange light of the fireplace. So red. What made it so red. Pretty. “Why’re you wet?” he managed when he remembered they were talking.

Crowley nodded, or at least, it started as a nod and eventually just became a strange bobbleheaded-ness that could only be accomplished by someone for whom the limitations of the mortal flesh were optional.

Aziraphale watched this development in fascination. What a funny demon.

After a moment, Crowley stopped and sank further into the sofa, making unintelligible sounds that the angel could only assume were meant to be words but got lost along the way. He looked over his shoulder to Aziraphale before making an extremely shocked expression, eyes widening comically.

“You-“ he swallowed. “You’re sitting next t’ me.”

Aziraphale nodded sagely, taking another long drink from his wine, which had given up on the concept of getting empty some time ago, instead pursuing the wiser course of refilling itself. Was probably a fine miracle. Jesus did that with the bread and fish once – what’s a glass of wine?

Aziraphale remembered, then, that he wouldn’t have to explain his miraculous uses to Heaven anymore, and drank another glass again just because he could.

Crowley was still looking at him, eyes fully golden and face weirdly red. Like his hair. Very pretty hair, that red.

“You’re sitting on the sofa,” Crowley reiterated, as though Aziraphale hadn’t noticed.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied simply. He _was_ on the sofa, indeed.

“Not your armchair.”

“No.”

Crowley started shaking his head, mumbling to himself. “Too close, ‘m gonna do s’mthin’ stupid…”

Aziraphale fought the haze of his thoughts to parse this nonsense. “Should I – shall I…move?” he said.

“No!” Crowley exclaimed immediately, going so far as to put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, as though this could keep Aziraphale from moving away. It was rather effective, but not for the reasons the demon may have intended. “Don’t do that!”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he remembered how legs worked by now, anyway. “Is there a problem, dear?”

Crowley patted Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Need to tell you something, but…” He withdrew his hand. “Hmm. Shouldn’t.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Thought we weren’t keepin’ secrets from ‘ch other.”

Crowley hissed, his tongue apparently going forked in his inebriated and slightly stressed state. “I can’t tell you this ‘ne!”

“Tell me, dear.”

Crowley shook his head ardently, jutting his lip out like a child.

Aziraphale put his free hand on Crowley’s shoulder, mirroring the demon’s earlier move. “It’s ‘kay, love,” Aziraphale said gently. “You can tell me.”

Crowley looked at him, eyelids half-mast and eyebrows furrowed low in concentration. “Mmm. Nope. Can’t tell you tha’ I’m in love with you. Y’ won’t like it.” He started mumbling something about going fast and tartan.

“That’s okay,” Aziraphale said sloppily, without hesitation. “Love y’ too, dearest.”

Crowley’s spine went rigid as he spun to stare at Aziraphale, golden eyes blown wide again. Gosh, what bright red hair. He was such a beautiful demon. “You WHAT?!” he shouted.

Aziraphale giggled. “You tol’ me yesterday, love. You kissed me an’ everythin.’”

Crowley made an incredulous noise. “I did?!” He blinked a few times, mouth hung open. “Brilliant!” And he leaned over and kissed Aziraphale squarely on the nose with a dramatic “muac” sound for effect.

With Crowley leaned close, Aziraphale took the opportunity to pull the demon against his chest, both losing their wine glasses in the process. The wine and its containers made the wise decision to no longer exist. Aziraphale leaned back on the sofa, resulting in his demon sprawled over his body horizontally.

Crowley huffed against Aziraphale’s neck and seemed to try and get up, but decided it was wasn’t worth the effort, or perhaps it had simply been for show. “You really love me, ‘Ziraphale?” he murmured sleepily, shifting the arm squished under his body to lazily pet Aziraphale’s curls.

Aziraphale almost nodded but realized this would dislodge Crowley’s head position under his chin, which the angel had rather decided he liked, and he intended to allow the demon to take up permanent residence there. So, instead, he relied on his vocabulary, which was becoming more conceptual and faint by the minute. “Oh, very very,” he said seriously. “Quite many.”

“’Zat so?” Crowley murmured. “Tha’s nice…”

Aziraphale turned his head enough to kiss Crowley’s red hair. Such a pretty color. His demon was so lovely and sweet.

“’M noooot,” Crowley half-heartedly groaned. Aziraphale didn’t realize he had spoken aloud.

He tried to come up with a response, but within moments, Crowley’s soft snores that sounded like adorable hisses were the only sound in the room, and Aziraphale decided that, really, thinking was a waste of effort that could be put into snuggling with his demon, instead.

~

The next morning, Aziraphale woke first with a loud groan, shifting to clutch his forehead in pain.

This woke Crowley, who was still situated over his chest. If anything, the demon had snaked his body around the angel’s even more and was like a very warm, very bony blanket.

“Sod _everything,”_ Crowley mumbled with feeling as he shoved his face into Aziraphale’s waistcoat, the light of the room apparently being too much to handle. Aziraphale quite agreed.

“Just one moment, love,” Aziraphale whispered, not daring to speak any louder. His throat was so dry. Why, oh why, did he have to forget to sober up? Hadn’t he learned his lesson about hangovers in New York back in 1923, with that incident with the parrots?

He carefully miracled away his hangover before taking care of Crowley’s, not trusting himself to do it properly if he did Crowley’s first.

The two took a moment, wrapped around each other in the back room of the bookshop, to adjust their eyes to the light of mid-morning.

Finally, Crowley lifted himself enough to look at Aziraphale, propping his chin on his arm. He looked withdrawn and embarrassed. “We never discuss last night, agreed?” he said firmly as he shook his pointer finger at the angel’s face, more like a declaration than a question.

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “Aw, I thought it was sweet. You love me so much you forgot that-“

“Yes, yes, I’m a bloody idiot,” he moaned. “Can we talk about something else now?”

“Mmm, I could tell you all about how much I endlessly adore you, if you prefer.”

Crowley grinned impishly. “Oh, do,” he purred, contrasted by the vivid red blush that had sprung up on his cheeks.

That morning was not a productive one, but it was a happy one. Aziraphale lavished his demon with praise and love that he had withheld for thousands of years, and the demon basked in it like a snake to the sunbeams.

It wasn’t quite a normal day, as it turned out. They had new options and new freedoms to explore together, both drunkenly and sober.

But the love itself? No, that wasn’t new or strange. But it was still worth declaring twice.


End file.
